Buried Alive
by DreamsWanderer
Summary: It's been three years since Anna lost her whole family - father, mother, sister. Now, trapped into an engagement she doesn't want anymore, she heads out for one final day of freedom. But what she finds on her way up to the mountains will catch her totally off guard... –– Written for Frozen Fandom Month, for the Wildcard day of AUs Week.
1. Ouverture

**BURIED ALIVE**  
 **Ouverture**

* * *

There was mist. It coiled languidly upon the calm waters of the fjord, livened only every now and then by some rocking, rippling waves. It slithered lazily down the long sleeves of an elegant dress of a deep, purplish hue. It lapped almost lovingly at the hands, adorned with pitch black lace, abandoned among the ruffles of the rich gown.

The woman was standing at the edge of the rocky shore, her feet encased in a pair of dark slippers kissed by the quiet waters. She didn't seem to mind the wetness – actually, she seemed oblivious to it entirely. Her glassy eyes were fixed on the light that the mansion in front of her cast onto the sea.

It had all started so long ago. All because of a childish, stupid caprice. It had been so long. Many years she had dwelled in the darkness of doubt, in rage. Eight more she had spent waiting still, but in anticipation, enjoying his anxiety. Ten more she had passed reveling in his despair.

She casually brought a hand to play with her short, raven black hair.

She wished she could have savored that bliss much longer… but alas, that was not the case: she knew he had made up his mind. She had to act, before he could attempt to restore that peace she had worked so hard to jeopardize.

Her skin cold, colder than the northern sea itself, she dissolved in the thickening haze that surrounded the slope of the mountain and the banks of the fjord. The piercing drizzle swirled and crept towards the mansion, apparently headed for that light shining behind one of the windows of the Western tower.

The shadow of a gale seemed to glide right through the glass.

The candle that had been casting the light went out.


	2. Act One

**BURIED ALIVE**  
 **Act One**

* * *

Gusts of wind rushed through Anna's hair. They pulled at her twin braids, disentangling them from the austere up-do she had secured them into. They now swirled behind her, two messy, slender banners flying in her wake, bouncing up and down against her back accordingly to the rhythm set by the gallop of the girl's horse.

She was on the run. However, she wasn't sure about what she was running from. Perhaps from the oppressing stone walls of her big, empty mansion, or perhaps from the fretting care of Gerda, her maidservant; or perhaps from that claustrophobic engagement that, she had discovered, she did not want at all.

When that handsome, charming suitor had knocked at the door of her estate, she had been beyond herself with excitement. He looked like everything she had read about, dreamt about: he was gorgeous, with those green eyes and copper hair and impeccably-groomed sideburns; he had been so sweet and understanding and funny, so eager to be with her that she had yielded quickly and begged Kai, her guardian, to let her accept his courtship. He hadn't been easy to convince, as reluctant and mistrustful as he was… but his beloved Anna had been so sad for the past three years, he hadn't had the heart to deny her that ray of sunshine.

Of course, it had turned out he had been right about Hans. As soon as the engagement had been officially announced, he had started to grow distant. Within a matter of weeks, his attentions had become scarce: he no longer wished to have her around, and all he cared about were the keys of the study, were they kept all the accounts regarding the assets, the properties and the wealth of her family. Within a matter of weeks, Anna had seen through his games of play pretend: he had been after her inheritance alone. He didn't care for her. He probably never had.

The solitary tear that stroke her cheek was immediately erased by the whipping wind, but it managed to surprise her nevertheless: with all the grieving and mourning she had been doing for the past three years, she had no idea she had any tears left.

Her whole family had passed away when she was only fifteen. Her father Agdar, her mother Idun, her sister Elsa. All dead, in the span of just three nights.

Her father and her mother had been killed because of a mistake: some thief had tried to break into the safe in their room, and they had walked right into him; the man had panicked, slitting their throats and running with nothing but a coin purse and some jewels. Anna had buried them herself, surrounded by the curious, petty noblemen and noblewomen who had wanted to come and see the heiress of the Izrósir family.

Her sister had been ill, almost ever since she could remember. When she was eight, Elsa had been diagnosed with some kind of mysterious disease. Nobody had been able to identify it for good, no matter how many physicians and specialists her parents had summoned. At the beginning it hadn't been too bad: she had been forbidden to play with Anna, her five-year-old little sister, and had been ordered to keep some kind of distance, to make sure she didn't infect her, but they still saw each other. However, in time the sickness had grown stronger, and Elsa had grown weaker; she had been forced to spend more and more hours in her room, tucked into bed, too exhausted to even stand. In the end she had been practically locked in there, a precaution to keep the ailment that tortured her confined in there, along with its agonizing carrier. Three days after the death of her parents, whatever condition had been persecuting her for ten years had finally claimed her. Anna hadn't been able to bury her: the staff had been ordered to burn her body, hoping to extinguish whatever plague her she bore with the flames. Everything had been carried out before she even realized what had happened.

Three years she had lived alone, the cold walls of the house that didn't feel like home anymore pressing in on her, numbing her. Then Hans had come, only to shove her right back in the abyss of sorrow she had been trying to claw her way out from. It was colder than ever.

That morning, it had dawned on her that it would have never been warm again – not in three years, not in thirty, not in three hundred: she was going to be stuck in a life of loneliness and play pretend, bound to a man who would have left her to freeze to death. The mere thought had threatened to choke her. Unable to breathe, Anna had run to the stables, saddled her horse and rode outside, hoping that the rush of air would have rekindled life in her lungs. That had not been the case. She had galloped all the way to the borders of her properties – yes, they were still _hers_! – but the suffocating sensation hadn't eased one bit. In that moment, she had heard Gerda's voice in the distance, waving frantically, calling her back; a distant, detached voice in her head had reminded her that she had an appointment with the tailor to try on her wedding dress.

It had been too much. Not turning her horse towards the mansion, she had urged him forward, determined to put as much distance between herself and that life she didn't want. She rode, away, far away. She had been riding for hours.

She didn't even know where she was going, but she didn't want to stop. She would have never wanted to stop.

Unfortunately, her horse didn't seem to agree with her: after half a day of galloping through hills and up the mountains, he slowed down. There was foam in his mouth. Anna sighed, but lovingly patted the white fur of his neck.

«You okay, Olaf?» she asked him, a mild concern in her voice.

The fjord horse shook his head, neighing. The girl sunk back on the saddle and dropped the reins, allowing the animal to roam wherever it pleased him. He began to make his way off the path, heading for a lake she had could spot in the distance, its waters gleaming under the midday Sun.

As he trotted towards the much needed refreshment, his rider glanced around, trying to assess their surroundings. Looking behind, she realized they were way up in the mountains: she could see the northern sea shimmering at the bottom of the steep slope. All around her, only the green grasslands, bordered by thick woods of pine trees; a valley opened up to her right, white fluffy sheep dotting the rich green. Up ahead, the towering cliffs of North Mountain; with the Sun shining so bright and the air so serene, she could even make out the ruins that nestled among the rocks, not even that far away. She had never been to the ruins, she realized.

The barking of a dog distracted her from her thoughts, snapping her back to reality. Olaf stopped and stomped his hooves against the ground, taken by surprise. It was a good thing that other animals didn't spook him, the girl mused, or she would have been in quite some troubles… but she still patted his neck to soothe him, just to be sure. It proved to be a wise decision, because when the German Shepherd – and a huge one at that! – came into view, it began circling around her, yapping happily, apparently eager to play. Anna smiled down at it.

Then, looking up, she saw the silhouette of a tall man, who cupped his hands around his mouth and called: «Sven! Come here, boy!»

But Sven would have none of that. Instead, he sat like a good puppy, clearly trying to coax the girl to get down on the grass to play with him, his tail waving wildly. Unable to resists such a cute and well-mannered dog, she dismounted and crouched to scratch his ears. Immediately won over, the dog laid down and rolled on his back, his tongue dangling out of his mouth, a blissful expression in those playful brown eyes of his.

The redhead's grin widened when he heard the dramatic, exaggerated sigh of exasperation of the furball's owner. She looked up and waved a hand in his direction, which he took as an invitation. As he grew closer, she began to make out his features: he was definitely tall, and strong too, with nice broad shoulders; his ash-blond hair seemed to be alight under that bright Sun. When he was a few steps away from her, she noticed his strong nose and his kind, honey-brown eyes.

«Is that the way to behave, Sven? Now we leave the sheep unattended and bother every passerby just to get a belly rub?» he questioned the dog, who answered him with a satisfied whine.

«I'd take that as a yes.» Anna giggled, her green-blue eyes glinting with amusement. «And no harm done, really. I was going to stop anyway, my horse needs to drink a bit.»

The young man smiled and addressed her for the first time, clearly embarrassed. «The perhaps we should apologize to him. We're clearly keeping him from getting to the lake.»

The redhead stood up and brushed her hands against her riding outfit before offering one to the man in front of her. «That's okay, we'll get there soon enough. I'm Anna, by the way. And this is Olaf.»

He took it and shook firmly. «Kristoff.» he introduced himself, smiling at her. «And Sven of course. So you've been riding, eh?» he ventured, holding one of his hands before Olaf's nose, allowing him to smell it. «This seems quite the horse. What have you been doing to tire him this much?»

If there was some kind of reproach in there, she ignored it. «We've been riding ever since dawn, actually. We should have probably taken it easier but… we couldn't stop. I couldn't stop.»

Kristoff had never been good at reading people, but he suddenly sensed something was… off about that girl. She looked so cheerful, but that hesitation gave her some strange depth. She felt… lonely?

«Well, if you've been on the road this long, you'll be hungry too.» he offered, deciding not to pry. «How about we walk you to the lake and share the food I've got? That's where my flock is anyway.»

Anna's eyes lit up, causing him to smile. «I'd love to.»

They walked quietly, none of them talking too much, only exchanging some general, empty opinions about how fine the day was, and how refreshing the air was, how well-bred Olaf looked, how playful Sven was. However when they settled on a blanket and began to settle the food down, the girl got a lot more talkative.

«Sandwiches!» she shrilled, delighted. «I love sandwiches! But I never have them back at home. And this is so good!» she took a mouthful, and her features gave way to a blissed expression. «And the cheese too, it tastes so… so fresh!»

Anna's praise of the sandwiches went on for a good ten minutes, much to Kristoff's delight. She was fun. Definitely a nice change for him too – he generally spent his lunches in silence, feeding Sven some bread every now and then, lazily keeping his eyes on the flock. It was… nice to have company, for once.

«Glad to hear you're enjoying the lunch.» he smiled, teasing her just a tad bit.

She smirked back. «Enjoying is an understatement. Why does everything tastes this good? I never get anything like this down in town.»

«Might be just the mountain air.» he replied with a shrug. «Or maybe the fact that everything's _really_ fresh. We milked the cow just the other day and got some cheese and butter out of it.»

Anna swallowed. «Oh? You run a farm up here?»

The blond man nodded. «Yeah, me and my adoptive family. We have a nice little garden, bit of an orchard too. We have a couple of cows, and the flock of sheep you see grazing around. Plus this bad boy here.» and he gestured towards Sven, rubbing his head.

The dog rolled on his back closer to him, making her laugh.

«There's a small village too not too far off the farm. We trade there and sometimes even with the town. It's a simple life, perhaps. Hard work too. But it's good.»

«It sounds good.» she smiled, leaning back on her arms to enjoy the crisp breeze blowing from the mountains. The glacier up North Mountain shone like a diamond. «And it's so pretty here.»

«It is.» Kristoff agreed, taking a deep breath of that refreshing air himself. «I wouldn't leave it for anything. But how's down in the valley instead? How's the town?»

She opened her eyes, an odd shadow haunting her green-blue irises. «Cold.» she just said.

He kept quiet for a while, waiting for her to say more. When he realized she wasn't going to, he asked instead: «So where are you going to ride next? Are you going to turn around?»

Anna seemed to give that two seconds of thought, but then she shook her head. «I'm not going back yet. I actually wanted to go up to the ruins. I've never seen them.»

His smile seemed to fall a little. «Not sure if I'd recommend it. There's a bit of a steep way to make and your horse probably can't make it up there, he doesn't look like he's got the hooves for it. Plus, there's nothing that great to see up there, just a bunch of scattered rocks and a barrow you can't even get into. And if you go up there, there's no way you'll be back home before sundown.»

«Oh.» she seemed to consider his words for a moment. He began to hope he had changed her mind. But then she said: «Why am I getting the feeling you're trying to talk me out of it? What, you think I can't make the climb?»

Kristoff laughed nervously – that girl definitely had a good mind. «No, no, that's not it. It's just… that place is odd. There's something wrong about it. In the village we say it's inhabited by some evil presence.»

The girl gave him a funny look. «I didn't expect this, Kristoff. A big strong guy like you getting spooked by some ghost stories?»

He smiled softly. «Well, can you blame a country man for believing in some superstitious rumors going around a small village?» they shared a short giggling moment, then he added: «But seriously. There's something… eerie about that place. People go there. Sick people. When… when they're at the end of the line, they go there.»

Anna cocked her head to the side, confused. «They go there to die?»

«Yeah.»

Well, that sounded weird. And… creepy.

«Odd. But I'm not sick, I'm not going there to die.» she countered, trying to reassure herself as well. That was damn creepy.

Kristoff looked genuinely worried. «I just thought you should know that.»

The girl smiled and reached out to him, placing a hand on the bare skin of his arms – he had rolled up his sleeves. He was warm. «Look, I'm not trying to upset any evil spirit. I just want to have a look around. See something I haven't seen yet. Before…» her voice trailed off.

He didn't press her. «You sure? What about getting back before sundown? And where will you leave your horse while you trek up there?»

«With you.» she blurted, earning herself a dumbfounded stare from him. «I mean, if you don't mind taking care of him while I make my way there and back. I don't want to leave him alone, waiting somewhere in the hills.»

The young man nodded, kindness on his lips. «Of course.»

«And I was also wondering…» she added after a beat of hesitation. «If, you know, if I don't make it back by a decent time to make the ride home before sunset… is there anywhere in the village I could spend the night?»

«I'm sure we'll find you a bed, should that be the case.» he smiled more broadly this time. «Glad to see you do have some common sense in you.»

She smiled as well.

After a while, they parted ways. They shook hands, Anna patted Olaf on the neck, scratched Sven's ears. She began to make her way towards the path Kristoff had pointed out to her. She halted, looked backwards. She waved him goodbye, her fingers dancing hesitantly in the breeze. He waved back. She walked on.

Kristoff looked down. He hadn't told her about the flowers his adoptive grandfather found on those who went to the barrow to die. After all, no ghost could have put them there. They were probably a respect paid by someone who visited the site often. There was no point in telling her.

When he looked up again, she was gone.

* * *

Anna was standing in front of the barrow. It looked… ancient. There had been stone arches on the way up – shorter first, then growing taller as she got closer, and slightly pointed. The trek up there had been a little bit of a climb, Kristoff had been right: it was a rocky path made of large steps, carved into the mountain side; not friendly at all for her horse.

But it had been so good to make the climb. Challenging, since she wasn't used to such things, but refreshing. Especially because she was going to be stuck in her mansion for years to come. She wasn't going to have that many chances to go take a stroll up there ahead of her.

The barrow itself was simple. There was a pointy arch before its entrance, then another one carved into the mountain. Half of the barrow was protruding from it – a half-circular shape that faded into the stone. The rest of the chambers were probably carved right in the mountain. The entrance, marked by two pillars of stone, was guarded by a pair of wooden doors – surely a later addition. The handles were sealed by a chain, held in place by a lock.

Anna wondered why. Surely the people of the village – and possibly of Arendelle too – had ancestors buried there. Why would someone seal the crypt? What was the secret of the barrow?

A thrill of excitement ran through her as she plucked two pins from her hair, which was coming loose anyway. She would have discovered that secret – one last adventure, before giving up freedom forever.

She knew how to pick a lock – she had learned what felt like an era ago, when Elsa had begun to be shut in her room too often for her little sister's taste. Her father tended to lock her in there, but she wanted to see her sister. So Anna went to pick the lock, just to squeeze her head in, say hi to Elsa, chat with her a little bit before closing the door again and let her rest. She had done so until her father had found out. It was one of the few times he had ever actually yelled at her.

The lock yielded quickly to Anna's experienced hands – didn't even put up much of a fight, to be honest: it was an old lock – and the wooden doors creaked open when, after removing the chain, she pushed them. A breath of cold, musty air made her scrunch her nose. The place clearly had been sealed away for years.

Anna looked back. It wouldn't have been too long before sunset, but she had the time to do a little bit of exploring before having to retrace her steps and head towards the village. She would have probably spent the night there. She had totally missed her appointment with the taylor. Hans would have made a huge fuss about that, and about being away for the night.

She turned her back on that thought and walked inside. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light inside the barrow, but eventually she began to discern objects. The first thing she noticed was a little alcove carved into one of the walls. There were… blankets in there? And a pile of firewood right next to it, along with some bottles of some kind of alcoholic beverage?

Oh, but of course. Sick people tended to go there, Kristoff had said. A bit of fire and some blankets were probably their last comforts, along with the spirits. A sad, small smile bubbled to her lips, along with a doubt: why would people want to go die there?

She hesitated: there were two openings that led to two corridors from the central chamber. She began to wander down the one that opened to her right. Both paths probably lead to the crypts anyway. There were some torches hanged at the walls, so she wouldn't have had to worry about lighting.

The corridor was quite big – she had pictured some sort of narrow passage lined with dangling skeletons, but that was not the case at all. It was tall and wide and sure, there were holes in the walls, but they were all shut by some stones that carefully sealed the openings, probably to protect the remains. There were names carved by loving hands under every seal. She let her fingers trace them as she passed by.

She regretted never coming there before: the barrow was so… peaceful. Probably that was why people went there to die. That atmosphere must have been a balm for their tormented bodies. Elsa would have liked that. She wondered what had happened to her ashes. She would have liked to bring them there. She also wished she had known the place sooner. She would have liked to have her parents rest there, as part of the mountain that overlooked and protected the lands they had loved so. It felt… fitting. But she didn't know where her sister's ashes were, and her parents had been buried in the graveyard for three years. It was too late.

She continued to walk, following the path within the mountain. It was made of turns and coils, making her feel as if she was going through a labyrinth, and yet the way never branched. As twisted as it was, there was only one way to go.

She realized she had been walking in an intricate circle when a fresher breeze began to blow her way: she was probably close to the entrance. As she approached, however, she couldn't see too much light coming from the doors she had left open: it was definitely getting late – and she had lost track of time while she walked the crypt, lost as she was in her own thoughts. The opening chamber almost materialized before her eyes and she found herself standing at the entrance of the corridor on the left – so they weren't two separate ways, just two entrances to the same path. She looked past the doors: the sunset was already lighting up the sky.

It was time to go. It was probably late already. She was going to need a torch on her way back, but she didn't want to take one of the crypt's. But maybe taking one a piece of the wood to use as a torch would have been a good idea. She might have been too curious for her own good, but there was some common sense in her anyway.

She moved towards the alcove to pick up a slender log to use, and that's when she saw it.

There was mist.

She found it odd – it seemed to be coming from within the crypt, for there was no mist outside. But there hadn't been any mist while she walked the corridor. She looked towards the crypts, and she saw something coiling at the entrance of the left corridor. There was a lot of mist there, building up, hiding… a figure.

«Hello?» she called.

Maybe someone had come in while she had been walking and now was emerging from the corridors as well. She suddenly remembered she wasn't supposed to be there – the doors were supposed to be locked from the outside. She bit her lip.

The figure shrouded with mist took one step forward. It was a young woman – her age, if not younger – with a long braid of platinum blond hair cast over one shoulder, her bangs swept back. She was thin, and gorgeous, with a lean body and a chiseled face. Her eyes had crystalline, ice-blue irises.

Anna's breath caught in her throat. She knew those eyes, she knew them from a portrait hanging in the study of her mansion – the only image she had of her sister, because she hadn't even be able to see her before––

«Elsa?»

The woman turned away and began running into the crypts. Anna leaped forward, chasing her.

It couldn't be, her mind told her. Her sister was dead, her body had been burnt. Her sickness had consumed her, ripped her away from her only three days after their parents' death. It couldn't have been Elsa.

But it was. She felt it, it was her. It was her sister.

«Elsa!»

Anna ran through the corridor as fast as she could, panting. The torches zoomed past her, the path felt more labyrinthian than before, for some reason. She realized she passed a dark corner in which she discerned a bigger alcove – how had she missed that the first time around? But it didn't matter now.

«Elsa!»

Maybe she was hallucinating. She had been up since dawn after all, she had been riding the whole day, only stopping for lunch with that nice young man, and then she had been trekking up a mountain. Maybe her tired body and her brooding mind were tricking her senses, maybe the crypt's atmosphere and the ghost stories had gotten the best of her…

…but when she reached the main chamber again, Elsa was there. There was no more light coming from outside – the doors were shut, but she didn't bother considering it. The light casted by the torches was more than enough to make out the blonde's appearance.

Elsa was there, dressed in white, staring at her.

Her sister was there. In front of her. Her sister… was she a ghost?

«Elsa?»

The blonde young woman smiled at her, opened her arms.

Anna dove right into them, wrapping her own around her – she wasn't a ghost, she was too solid to be a ghost, she was too real to be anything but her beloved sister. She clung to her, sobbing, crying.

She had missed her so much. But she was there now. She wasn't alone anymore.

«Oh, Elsa…»

She buried her head in her shoulder, and she felt Elsa do the same.

Then, a prick in her neck, the sharp shadow of a fleeting pain as two small, cold shards punctured her skin.

«El…»

But words failed her as she felt a sucking sensation there on her throat, and some strange, odd impression of pleasure washed over her for what felt seconds, minutes, hours. Exhaustion came next, taking her quickly, and she felt her knees give way. Never letting go of her, Elsa sank down with her, kneeling herself, one arm still around her sister's torso while she brought the other hand to cradle her head, holding it up.

«I got you.» she heard her say.

Those words made her manage one last smile before her eyes drowned in darkness, her hands falling at her side, her body going limp. The cold crept into her, nestling in her chest. But it was okay. She was with her sister. She would have been fine. Everything would have been fine.

 _At last, peace._

Her heart was beating more and more faintly. Elsa's name was the last thing on her lips, her last breath.

She found death in her sister's arms.


	3. Act Two

**BURIED ALIVE**  
 **Act Two**

* * *

Elsa's eyes were closed while she stirred lazily. She felt wonderfully warm.

It always happened when she sated her thirst. After so much time going without a drop of blood, growing colder and colder sealed away as she was in her dark alcove, feeling her veins swell with someone else's life always made her feel… sleepy.

And this time she was feeling extra-sleepy. She hadn't fed in… what, a month? Two? Something like that. And blood had tasted so good: it was good blood, whole, clean, not the usual ailment-corrupted blood she forced herself to use as her only mean of sustainment.

As guilty as it made her feel, she wanted to revel in that warmth, and refused to open her eyes for a while longer. She didn't want to have to see her victim. She didn't remember who it was – that was the downside of going for so long without drinking, of refusing to go out and hunt, waiting frozen in her alcove until the dying people came to find her in the barrow: the monster within her took over and all she could focus on was the faint pulse of her prey, the blood coursing through their veins, calling out to her.

Somehow, it made it easier. She would have never been able to attack someone otherwise, not even for her own survival. If the thirst didn't become too overwhelming for her to be able to control her mind and body, she would have probably never fed. But a vampire couldn't starve herself to death.

It had been a shock when, three years before, a few days after the death of her parents, she had awakened in a graveyard. It should not have happened, the instructions had been clear: once she had actually died, her body had to be brought away – far, far away from home – and burnt before the realm of the dead could spit her out again, before she could rise from her coffin and hurt someone. She had been hoping for that death, for that freedom. But her curse had won, and she had awakened to a fair, gorgeous young woman staring down at her, pointy teeth shining against her red lips.

She had been the one to save her from her pyre, she told her, and killed those who would have otherwise been her executioners. She had taken her hand and pulled her to her feet, ranting about how wonderful their life would have been, how she would have taught her to hunt – to _kill_. That had done it. Elsa had torn her hand away from her grasp and yelled and screamed, demanding an explanation she had not obtained. But she hadn't needed it because when she, instead of answering, scolded her as a mother would have had, Elsa had remembered.

It was a memory so dim and distant that couldn't have possibly been her – no human could remember their first time being picked up from their crib… but maybe it was the recognition that had sparked it, or maybe her mind now imbued with a monster's blood had been able to present it to her. She had remembered that same woman – those same ice-cold eyes, that same short black hair – holding her, a finger pressed against her mouth, and then a bittersweet piercing taste that had made her cry back then, but that she would have tasted again – and craved – eight years later.

She had been the one who had infected her with that curse. That was when she had attacked. But that vampire was too old, too strong, too experienced, and had quickly overpowered her. She had waited for that day for a long time, and now she had no intention of letting her go. So Elsa had kicked, knocking off one of the lanterns that lighted the graveyard and sending it shattering next to them. The woman's purple gown had caught fire and she had cried out, losing her grip on the blond, young, scared girl. Never turning back, Elsa had run. Up to that day, she didn't even know if her creator had made it out alive or if the flames had finally brought her a second, definitive death.

She had run, and run, and run. Away from home, away from Arendelle, away from what was left of her family – away from _her_ , she had to protect _her_. She had made her way up the mountains, and she would have gone all the way up to the glacier, determined to be out of any traveller's way forever, if dawn hadn't broken. She didn't feel fatigue anymore, nor the cold… but the Sun, she had discovered, much to her despair, could hurt her. She had considered not taking cover, remaining there on the stoney slope and just _burn_ , letting the light and the warmth sweep her away. But that odd kind of 'life' that was now raging within her had been stronger, and had forced to crawl away and hide among the shadows, in the cold. The instinct of survival that had suddenly stirred in her had been stronger than her own will.

It had been a few hours after dawn that the short old man had found her hiding behind a rock, her breaths laboring, struggling – she wasn't far enough from the Sun. It had been a good thing, probably, because as weak as she was she hadn't been able to attack him, and she had been conscious enough to tell him to _stay away, to go away_. He hadn't left, but he had kept his distance. From numerous steps away, he had asked her what was going on – but something in his deep, wise green eyes told her he _understood_.

She had begged him to help her find a way to go. He had told her he couldn't. That it had to be her alone. So he had asked her what was holding her back. And she had mouthed her sister's name.

 _Anna. Anna, Anna, Anna._

It had been Anna – always was, always would have been.

 _Anna._

So they had found another way – a way to contain her. He had pointed her to the barrow, where she could have found shadows, protection, and peace. She had gone there. After some time, a person had shown up. A middle-age man, but he looked older. He had called and called for her, until she hadn't answered, dragged out of her alcove and to the main chamber to face him. His "please" was all she had heard before her thirst had taken over. His blood had a foul taste: sour, bitter, rotten. Because of his illness, some part of her brain told her, but she had drunk it all anyway. When she had woken up again, finally back to herself after weeks suspended between nightmare and reality, instinct and reason, the weight of what she had done had crashed into her. She had looked at him, and noticed he looked… peaceful.

Of course, she had thought: dying in the arms of a pretty girl, yielding to her bloody kiss was so much better than weeks of suffering from a fatal sickness.

So she had stayed. The sick kept coming there to die. Irregularly, sure, but they came, and she had enough self-control to bury herself in her alcove, waiting for them to walk the corridors and wake her from her frozen state. They always carried a letter from that green-eyed old man that told her how things were, what month it was, if he had news of her sister. He never had many, if any at all. But that was alright. He had let her know of a neighboring country that had meant to try and take control of Arendelle's harbor, but ultimately hadn't because he had been told of the rumored monster living there in the mountains.

That had been a balm for Elsa. It was nice to know that even as cursed as she was, she could provide some degree of safety to her sister. She had let that and three years of routine lull her into a false sense of security, which now laid shattered between her arms.

She had drunk from someone healthy. She knew that – she didn't remember who they were or what they looked like, but she remembered their blood and its heavenly taste. A visitor.

 _It was an accident_ , she told herself, the voice of her eight-year-old self loud in her ears, _they shouldn't have been there in the first place, the door was sealed._

She whimpered. The time had come: she had to open her eyes, see what she had done, who she had hurt. She bit her lips softly – their taste was still there – and looked.

Her horror was immediate, and overwhelming.

Red hair. Freckled cheeks and nose. Sweet, round features.

She would have recognized that face anywhere.

«ANNA!» she screamed – a scream that echoed in the crypt, that made it out the barrow, that tolled among the cliffs of the mountain – every excuse gone from her mind, blown away by the burning, ice cold fear and guilt that swirled within her with the force of a storm.

Anna was in her arms, wearing her riding outfit, her hair braided in two twin pigtails – that had always been her favorite way to braid her hair, Elsa remembered. She was pale, so pale it looked wrong, unnatural; even her lips were white. She was still, and that was so wrong and unnatural too – Anna had never been able to keep still. And she was cold. So cold. She was as cold as she was.

Anna was cold as death.

«No…» she whispered, cupping her sister's face with her fair, trembling hands. «No… please, no…»

She couldn't believe it. She didn't want to believe it. All that pain, and cold and distance – not only for those last three years, but for the last thirteen years, ever since she had craved blood for the first time – Anna's blood, when she was her sweet, squirming, breathing five-year-old little sister.

She had been so careful. She had run away so far. She had sealed herself away for so long.

And it hadn't been enough. Her curse – the vampire's curse, which condemned her to be the downfall of anyone she loved – had finally caught up to her.

 _She had killed Anna._

She had never felt more like a monster.

«Anna…»

She crumbled, collapsing on her sister's still torso, her arms clinging to her, holding her tight against her. Her sobs shook both their bodies.

Elsa would have never know how long she stayed there, collapsed against her sweet, dear, beloved sister, despair washing over her, drowning every single thought in a storm of absolute agony. Everything in her slowly died away – every thought, every emotion, every spark of _anything_. She was empty. There was nothing left of her.

There was nothing left of her, safe for one thing: determination. She raised her head.

The green-eyed old man had asked her what had been holding her back, what had been fueling her survival instinct even against her own will. Now that reason was no more.

 _No more._

There was light coming from outside, peeking in from the crack in the woods. The night had passed.

When Elsa stood up and threw open the doors on the barrow, even her survival instinct couldn't force her to tear her eyes away from the rosy crack of light that was slowly rising from the horizon.

 _No more._

It was the break of dawn. Not bothering to close the doors, she returned to lie beside her sister, hugged her close. Hugged her closer her when the Sun began to cast its light past the doors, within the barrow, onto her.

It burned, it burned so much it made her want to bolt and hide in her alcove. But she wouldn't, she couldn't. It wasn't worth it, nothing was worth it anymore. The only person she had strived to protect was gone – because of her. And now that she was gone, even keeping alive the rumors to prevent Arendelle's fjord to fall into enemy hands seemed pointless.

 _No more._

So instead of running, she hugged her lifeline closer still, burying her blonde head in her sister's shoulder, savoring her flowery scent one last time – hoping that could have been the last thing she would have been conscious of.

«I got you.» she whispered through her gritted teeth, a burning pain settling into her.

She could feel her skin growing irritated, scorched. She was sure that at some point it would have caught fire – she knew it, she _just knew it_. The pain turned into agony.

A shrill, long, tortured cry tore itself free from her throat when she felt the rays of light whip her skin. But at the end of that scream, a final sigh of relief: she was with her sister. She would have been fine. Everything would have been fine.

 _At last, peace._

The Sun's fire roared as it set her skin alight, cleansing her, freeing her – but at a terrible price.

She found death in her sister's arms.


	4. Finale

**BURIED ALIVE**  
 **Finale**

* * *

There was smoke. It coiled slowly around the jagged crest of the mountain, caressing the stony slopes, its sharp smell filling the air. It slithered lazily down the steps that lead to the barrow, its stench clinging to the thick, brown fabric of the clothes worn by a green-eyed old man.

He was standing in front of the carved arch that rose only a few steps away from the barrow's entrance. The wooden doors had turned to ash, the doorway itself was blackened by the angry flames that had scorched the main chamber.

The scream had woke him up at the break of dawn. The dark column that had been rising against the rosy sky had made him hang his head.

It was over.

With a heavy heart, he had made his way to the ancient crypt. His adoptive grandson, Kristoff, had wanted to come, but he had forbidden it. It had been useless. He had fallen asleep on the porch while waiting for the redhead girl he had told him about. To him, that column of smoke could mean but one thing.

Watching him fall to his knees, helpless, in front of the charred barrow had been painful.

They had already gathered the remains that he had found in there. There wasn't much left. He had insisted to bring them up the glacier and scatter them there, where they could have played in the wind, under the aurora. He knew they would have liked that.

He turned his back on the barrow and made his way down the steps, where Kristoff was waiting for him, cheeks pale and wet, next to the white fjord horse the girl had left them. He had decided they were going to keep him.

He patted the blond young man's arm. They mounted the steed and headed towards the glacier.


End file.
